


Active Participant

by BadOldWest



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/BadOldWest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke did not normally picture Bellamy Blake as the kind of guy to lie back and take anything. </p><p>Just some regular old power play smut between these two nerds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Active Participant

Clarke did not normally picture Bellamy Blake as the kind of guy to lie back and take anything. Not from the way he moved. Not with his practiced energy. Not from his fidgeting, sugar packets and straw wrappers almost a third party in their conversations. She had to test if he was even listening, in the early days of their friendship.

_“Class was good.”_

_“Mm,” he’d nod, folding the paper into a perfect square, then in half to a triangle._

_“We’re all getting pretty geared up to start our residencies, so things there’s not much left to teach us without getting us in the field.”_

_He’d make a noncommittal listening sound._

_“To celebrate we all went into one of the lab rooms and had an orgy.”_

_His eyes cut up to hers from where they’d been; both pairs watching his hands unfurl the paper into a strip like a thin bellowed fan._

_“How many times did you cum?” he replied without missing a beat._

_His eyes were dark. He was going to make her squirm a little bit, as punishment for doubting him._

_She took his idle hand in hers, squeezing tightly from across the table._

_“Why, are you trying to top their score?”_

That was when it was merely attraction that made their gazes linger.

Raven reasoned that two people with chemistry like theirs were not going to last long before things happened, and sure enough, that was their excuse to try things out.

Bellamy was attentively dirty when it came to Clarke’s pleasure, selfless to the point that she felt a bit overwhelmed by his urgency. She was incredibly happy for that, the switch back from dating a women to men again was usually a bit of a rocky landing and female pleasure wasn’t a mutually understood thing anymore. After dating Lexa, she was braced to have to sort some things out that she wasn’t going back to singular orgasms just because she was with a male partner.

Bellamy didn’t need that talk. The snark died on her lips the moment she realized, when his fingers were curled pleadingly inside her, beckoning against that soft spot that had her thrashing against the sheets, he was still keeping his pace as her walls rippled around him. And then kept going after she calmed down, his mouth latching onto her clit and his efforts doubling. Bellamy understood multiple orgasms. He liked that design feature of Clarke’s cunt quite a lot.

Often she’d end up pushing him away, or be bonelessly satisfied by the time he came, lying there as he smirked with satisfaction, practically using her body to get himself off because she couldn’t manage moving. He seemed to like it that way, because he did his level best to get her absolutely lost in him.

Clarke loved this. Clarke _hated_ this. Her usual finesse just ebbed away because of her own temptation. She wanted to be fucked silly by Bellamy, but she also wanted to fuck Bellamy silly. She rarely got that far. Even after she’d drop to her knees and take him, hot and thick, into her mouth, even when she got him swearing and gripping her hair and trying not to thrust against her lips, there’d still be a point where he’d insist on returning the favor being too generous for her to feel like they were even.

So her assumptions are well founded, and it begins like any other night.

Clarke is a little jagged after that first orgasm, chasing the second because she knows how good the last one was.

She’s rolled Bellamy onto his back and sheathed him, and he’s got no complaints. He grips her hips and fucks into her, hair in his eyes and talking dirty, low, filthy.

“You’re going to come around my cock, princess? That’s right. Giving me a show. You love to be watched, don’t you? Fucking dirty girl.”

And she’s close, she’s always close, and he’s not worried on how fast she gets there, not teasing, just facilitating what he assumes she needs. It’s been a rough night of her internship. She needs to fuck until she can’t form logical thought. She told him as much once she got her coat off after she came through the door.  

So it’s good, they’re getting there, and she grinding down on his cock, making little circles with her hips that are making his pelvis brush her clit just right. She’s teasing herself, at this point, because it really just takes the right kind of determination at this point, but it’s good, and it doesn’t need to stop, but she decides it’s time to let Bellamy roll them over and take charge, so she is ready to let go when…

At some point, Bellamy closes his eyes. Clarke opens hers at the right moment to see it. Even a little rough and wild into it, she catches it.

She’s broken him down. Usually his eyes are hard on her face, possessive but gentle, watching her spiral down. That’s what she sees until she arches her neck back and clenches her eyes shut.

What she’s never seen before now was his own head thrown back into the pillow, hair fanned around it like he was about to melt into the mattress. His brows are knit together, forehead worried. His eyes closed too tightly, the fact that he is actually holding his breath. Quiet bursts of air hiss out of his nose when he fails to do so.

She nearly comes at the sight. Confident, controlled Bellamy, who always looks at her like he’s being given exactly what he wants.

But this is what he must see when he looks at her writhing with arousal. The helplessness. That trust.

She wants to make him melt like that. Pin him down and make him squirm, like he always did to her.

This was no longer about Clarke riding him to get herself off before he took things into his own hands. This was not just the usual transitional, albeit vital, position. This was it. She wanted to ruin him with just this.

Bellamy thinks that her hips getting frantic over his are from his stimulation, so when Clarke leans down and traps his wrists under her hands, he looks surprised.

“I’m not stopping until you cum,” she whispers in his ear, switching her efforts from a slick roll of her hips to raising herself so just the tip of his cock was inside her, and then lowering herself back down.

He tries to thrust up to meet her, but her hips held him down.

“No,” she orders sharply, sliding herself up again.

Bellamy struggles against her, but as easily as he could flip her around and fuck her into the mattress, he doesn’t go that far. He wants this to go on. He’s just having a hard time letting himself.

Clarke starts getting frantic, wanting to see that vulnerable, blissed-out expression on his face. She is what can only be described as bouncing on his dick. They did this position a lot, but usually because it was easy to stimulate her clit and gave him something to watch before he could take things into his own hands. It was a position that was selfish for Bellamy.

Clarke squeezes her inner muscles around them as hard as she could, fucking him fast, the whole bed creaking.

Bellamy stares up at her, breathily trying to talk to her but the words not coming clearly, and victory soared hard and fast as any orgasm in her blood.

“Please cum for me,” she whispers, “Bellamy, please.”

Her pace picks up and he seems to lose any control he had left. His head is thrown back again, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down a grunt, and his hips jerking up underneath her in attempt to get more friction.

She feels the warmth start to flood her cunt, and he’s coming, jerkily and without and control, neck arched and eyes clenched shut tightly.

Clarke eases herself off him, gently, and lies down at his side.

She never gets to see him like this. He actually looks breathless. His face is flushed and the freckles seem so much darker against his skin.

She wants to roll him onto his back again and ravage him.

After a few moments, his eyes open and are dark and savage on hers.

“You are going to be the death of me.”

She kisses him, and he grips her against his body. But he’s loose-limbed and cuddling like she would be in his state. She wants to laugh at so many things, lovingly, at how their roles reversed. He’s so good like this. The kind of Bellamy who brings home her favorite pastries and remembers her favorite color and sends her texts at all hours when they’re not in the same room of the things he wishes she was there to see with him.

She sort of gets that eerie quiet, why he likes slow sex so much, why he didn’t ever say much in response when she was talking.

He was listening.


End file.
